The Orphaned Worlds (25 page)

At first she had been struck by a sense of chaos but she soon saw how a certain order and community was threaded through it all. A rough grid of lanes had been laid out and there were fenced play areas for young offspring, large handcarts wending around dispensing water, canopied stalls serving bowls of food. The signs of semi-permanence were evident, brightly coloured decorations on walls and awnings, some huts whose ground floors were of mud bricks or stone and mortar, the aerials and dishes adorning many roofs, while here and there sunlight glinted from suncell panels.

The rocky outcrop was not the only major feature in the immense shantyscape. About three hundred metres away a large ship, its lines rounded and tapering, lay amid the habitations, its stern a cavelike hollow where the drives had once been. Instead, cabins and companionways lay exposed, entire decks where refugees had moved in to make their homes, building onto support spars, hanging washing and flags between levels. The hull itself seemed to have lost half its plating and more rickety extensions protruded from the gaps. Another vessel, bigger and more rectilinear, was visible a kilometre away and, turning to left and right, Julia saw several others, all in various states of decrepitude. Almost inevitably, she had thought about the
Hyperion
back on Darien and experienced a sudden, unexpected wave of homesickness.

‘Ah, you are admiring my valiant
Pajentor
, once a great traveller between the stars, now home to several hundred of my children.’

This was her first meeting with Hurnegur, the Henkayan rebel leader, whose fluency in Anglic was a surprise. Henkayans were brawny and muscular, if a little shorter than Humans, and she had seen several on board the
Qol-Valish
. Hurnegur was in another category; he was at least seven feet tall with wide shoulders that bulked out the pale blue robe he wore, and large knuckly hands with four stubby, callused fingers. The second, more slender pair of arms, what Henkayans called their kindly arms, were clasped across his lower midriff. The face was broad and flat, the nose a wide, jutting flap while a protruding brow hooded the eyes.

‘Of course, the
Pajentor
will never fly again,’ Hurnegur said, lifting one hand to point at the nearest grounded vessel. ‘But she does make an excellent fortress.’

‘It is an honour to meet you,’ Julia said evenly.

Hurnegur made a dismissive gesture. ‘I am merely a warrior of true words, a humble officer of the Covenant Order – is this not so, Commodity-Chandler Talavera?’

Corazon Talavera emerged from behind the Henkayan, her demeanour as jaunty as ever.

‘Why General, your humility is only outshone by your skills in battle.’

A knowing smile creased the wide Henkayan lips. ‘Do your commodities have names?’

Talavera nodded and introduced the Enhanced to Hurnegur, and to the slender, dark-complexioned Gomedran who stood off to the side. This was Jeshkra, once a colonel in the Dol-Das army, now a general fighting for his faith.

‘Before coming over to greet you,’ Hurnegur went on, ‘I took a strange pill, very exotic, very expensive, but it lets me speak your odd Human language.’ He laughed, a deep chesty sound. ‘What strange noises you make! I offered one to my war-brother Jeshkra, there, but he refused, saying that it would pollute his blood!’ The Henkayan shrugged. ‘Even though I told him that it can be removed with another pill. But a certain fear of technology is ingrained in us now. We are the offspring of generations who lived like slaves under the Dol-Das tyrants, heretics and desecrators who used every clever, cunning piece of technology to oppress, control and subvert, to watch and to hear, even to interpret facial expressions and body movements. There was nothing they would not do in order to secure their dominion; no indignity or pain or gross torment was absent from their catalogue of cruelties.’ He looked at Julia. ‘And you Humans come from that interesting world, Darien.’

Not knowing how to respond, Julia had remained silent as the Henkayan then gazed sombrely out at the sprawling expanse of crowded shanties.

‘Zophor Three has another fifteen sand cities like this,’ he had continued. ‘Almost all their inhabitants fled the Yamanon Domain, or their parents or great-parents did. I don’t expect you to understand – you’re a beyonder, and a Human – but while there is life there is belief, and where there is belief there is a stirring for ascent. Always there is the movement from lower to higher, darkness to light, difficult paths, sometimes, but always rising up.’ The broad lips had smiled. ‘All those here, under every roof you can see, have converted to the Spiral Prophecy. All my children, my poor, dusty, thirsty ragged children, believe in its promise with the raw force of the dispossessed, the bled and the bereaved. We believe in the sanctity of the prophecy and the past. And in avengement.’

He had then smiled. ‘I have two other children, two very special, very powerful children. They are resting in cool dark chambers beneath this rock – come, I will show you.’

It took an hour, and eleven pauses for ritual inscribing, for the missile procession to finally reach the end of the covered walk-way. As she trudged along with an aching slowness, Julia’s mind returned to the modifications they had made, picking over the theories, the schematics, the lab rigs and test results. All of it like a chipped tooth that her tongue could not leave alone.

Designation – Sunfist; Primary Function – Pan-Strategic Assault Missile; Fabricator – Ixamar-Dol Industries at Awutur’s Triumph Yard; Length – 12.45 metres; Weight – 2,265 kg; Max Diameter – 1.98 metres; Reaction Drive – Cassig Military Systems ZD933 using Grade 2 pyrofractal fuel; Hyperspace Drive – Maluzu V18 (B) [range – 960 LY (T1), 1,140 LY (T2)]; Guidance System –
Obspace/Subspace Tracking and Tactical Targeting With Pseudo-AI Element; Payload – 750 kT Nuclear Fusion Warhead
…

It had been an exhilarating challenge: take two hyperspace nuclear missiles and modify them so that they become invisible to four levels of sensor nets, from objective space down to the third level of hyperspace. Hurnegur provided the innards of a third similar missile – payloadless – for tests and lab trials while Talavera provided a wide variety of lab equipment and research materials. Julia and her team were already familiar with the principles and theory of hyperspatial energy physics and the various transition states, so they were looking for something else, some conceptual direction, some lateral perspective …

Which they found. Transition between objective space and hyperspace caused tiny random variations in direction, which the navigationals normally acted to correct. The team saw how this, combined with a sequence of very short microjumps, could be patterned into a single coherent course converging on a target. Almost as if the one trajectory was broken up into myriad fragments randomly scattered around the destination, some in hyperspace as well as objective space. Ranges of modifications to the guidance and hyperdrive control systems were modelled and tested around the clock, then new routines for the AI element were coded and those too underwent testing and verification.

In the middle of all this, Talavera had stopped by to observe in silence before getting Julia alone for a brief exchange, encapsulated in just a couple of sentences:

‘If this doesn’t work, and Hurnegur and Jeshkra come looking for restitution, I don’t think I’ll be able to save more than one of you. And it may not be you, so make sure it works!’

That night, while curled up in her cot, Talavera’s words and the stress of their confinement and the ever-present threat of violence went round and round in her head, and it was a struggle not to sob out loud. But with the day came composure, control and the reliable familiarities of work.

Now, as they stood watching the last of the ritual inscribers finish their work on the missile casings, the dread truth of what she and the others had done forced itself into her thoughts. In modifying these missiles, they had in effect signed the death warrants of thousands of Humans and Brolturans. Because Julia, after thinking on the few fragments and hints that Talavera and Hurnegur had let slip, was now in no doubt that the armada was bound for the Darien system, and that the missiles were meant for the Earthsphere and Brolturan warships.

What if the armada never reaches Darien?
she thought.
Or the defence nets detect and destroy the missiles, or the missiles just fail at some point
…
?

But she knew how good their work was. Barring some unforeseen occurrence, some unlikely roll of the cosmic dice, these missiles would find their way through their self-made random mazes of evasion and end their journeys in eruptions of destruction.

The crowd noise of chants, cries and wailing surged louder as the last inscribers were steered back behind the barricades. Hurnegur and Jeshkra waved their spiral-decorated staves again and the crowds began wordlessly chanting along. Ahead, the covered walkway ended at the flank of a large transport, where a wide ramp led up into a dim hold. The wind was up outside and the sheeting was straining and bellying inward. A few joints and seals were less than perfect and a fine dust was hazing the overhead pinlights.

As the missiles on their loaders angled smoothly up into the hold, the Enhanced were guided to where extendable steps led up into an open hatch lower on the hull. Inside, Henkayan guards took them along a narrow gloomy passage to a medium-sized chamber with a metal deck and bulkheads, and well-worn racks on the walls. A cargo hold, Julia realised just as Corazon Talavera entered.

‘Finally we’re getting off this sand-blasted hellhole,’ she said. ‘Soon we’ll all be back on board the
Sacrament
, just one big happy family, while the missiles continue on to Hurnegur’s own ship.’

Julia leaned against the bulkhead, pushed back the thin hood, and crossed her arms.

‘So what job do you have lined up for us next? Cooking up new, nasty bioweapons, maybe, or some kind of mind-control ray, or perhaps just a toy for your desk, something that pulls the legs off small animals …’

Talavera laughed amiably and took a leisurely step or two towards Julia, one hand reaching out. There was a blur of motion. Julia’s right arm was suddenly snatched, twisted between Talavera’s left hand and upper right arm. Bright pain screamed from several points and reflex forced her down, crying out.

‘Luckily for you,’ Talavera said into her ear, ‘none of my guards understand Human languages, otherwise this would have been much more unpleasant. So see this as a free lesson in watching your tongue.’

Releasing her, Talavera straightened and stepped back. Julia gingerly rubbed several tender spots up and down her arm then unsteadily got to her feet. Konstantin and the others stood mute but angry-faced, held in check by Talavera’s henchmen with their odd, stubby-muzzled weapons.

‘To answer your risky question, we shall be accompanying the armada to its destination.’ Talavera’s smile was sardonic. ‘For you see, you’re all not quite done with Darien, not yet …’

There were the sounds of footsteps and voices from the corridor outside. Talavera glanced at the entrance then swept her gaze over all five Enhanced.

‘Someone very important has asked to meet you,’ she said. ‘So replace those hoods, keep your hands out of sight and if you are asked anything be careful what you say. Very careful.’

The hoods were pulled back up and since the thin robes had no pockets they kept their hands hidden within the wide sleeves. Then the door opened and a tall, old Henkayan entered at a slow limp, supporting himself on a stout walking stick gripped by the hand of his right-side kindly arm. The Henkayan was bare-headed and almost bald, and was attired in many ribbons of red and brown cloth, some wide, some narrow, some neatly wound, others looser, their ends embroidered or decorated with tiny metal tokens and draped over shoulders and arms … and it was with a shock that Julia realised that the elderly Henkayan was missing its upper arms.

Under the red and brown attire, the elongated torso was evident, as were the broad shoulders from which well-arranged folds hung, a polite veil clearly not intended to conceal the absence of those formidable limbs. Was it due to some genetic defect or some horrific form of torture?

The rebel general Hurnegur then entered, closely followed by two of his bodyguards. He bowed to the crippled Henkayan then the two engaged in a brief dialogue. During this, Julia stole glances at the others but saw only varying degrees of fatigue and resentment. Then Hurnegur spoke to Talavera.

‘Chandler Talavera, the Prophet-Sage wants to know if all Humans on the violated world are like these ones.’

The Prophet-Sage? The Voice of the Epiphanous Spiral Prophecy was probably the single most revered being on Zophor 3 and his presence here clearly set the seal on the armada’s purpose, of which the modified missiles were the most crucial element. And now, apparently, he was curious about the Humans who had been instrumental in providing those fearsome weapons.

Talavera cleared her throat. ‘No, General, these Humans were bred for scientific work. They have special brains that allow them to do many complex calculations.’

The Prophet-Sage listened to Hurnegur’s translation and came back immediately with another question. His voice was soft and slightly hoarse yet his gaze was cold and steady.

‘Did the Human settlers see them as abominations?’ Hurnegur said. ‘How would other Humans from their homeworld regard them?’

Talavera was silent for a moment and Julia felt a quiver of unease over the direction of enquiry.

‘These aren’t the kind of questions I was expecting, General.’

‘Nevertheless, I must have an answer.’

‘Okay, tell him this – other Humans see them as oddities, as if they had large feet or big noses. In fact, they are also a source of amusement and are often referred to as “big brains”.’

Apart from a widening of the eyes, Hurnegur’s features remained unperturbed. Then he gave a slight nod and relayed the answer. As the Prophet-Sage listened, Julia glanced at Talavera. The woman seemed relaxed, her expression amused and sardonic, yet one hand was buried in a waist pocket, the knuckles outlined as if gripping something.